


Talk It Over

by WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Angst, Feelings, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sappy, Self-Medication, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 07:58:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10407462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs/pseuds/WashboardRibsAndBrokenCribs
Summary: Based on the idea of Guzma developing PTSD after the Nihilego possession incident. He talks to Nanu about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (unofficial title "PTSD Buddies")  
> yo where my ptsd buddies @
> 
> a lot of those tags are there as warnings. idk if they're warranted, but tread cautiously nonetheless if you're sensitive to these things. 
> 
> dont encourage me to write fics cause then you get this shit instead

“Do you—”

“No, Nanu, I don't wanna fucking talk about it.” 

Guzma instinctively reaches for his hood, only to fumble and recall that he had discarded it in his attempts at cozying up with the kahuna. When he first stormed in to the station he tried to demand sex immediately (as one does), only for Nanu to immediately pick up that something was bothering him. 

Even despite the fact that it was just him and Nanu and two dozen Meowths, that fumble embarrasses him, and he tries to recover by pretending to stretch. 

Smooth. 

He can still feel Nanu's eyes on him as he idly strides across the room, clearly trying to look busy to avoid a conversation. 

“Where d'ya keep the booze, old man?”

Nanu snorts. “Why would you think—”

“Oh, don't even try to be cute,” Guzma cuts him off again, then mumbling to himself as he glances around, “old bastard—I can smell it on yer breath...”

Another chuckle. “'s under the desk.”

Guzma crouches by the desk and finds a mini fridge tucked up in the corner. With a padlock on the front. 

“...Why would you—”

“Meowth are craftier than you think.”

Guzma chuckles in disbelief. “Crafty enough to open beers?”

“It's a necessary precaution.” He can hear the shrug in Nanu's response. “Should be unlocked already.”

_Then what's the point if you're just gonna leave it unlocked—_ Guzma bites back a snarky comment and instead pops the lock. He scans through it before his eyes settle on a single can. It has a crude sketch of a Hawlucha on the side, and he recognizes it as one of the cheapest possible brands of booze to get in the region. 

_Least it's something._

“And now you're out,” he announces as he cracks the top open. 

“Sure, you can have the last one, thanks for asking.” Nanu deadpans. 

“'Ey,” Guzma plops himself down on the couch, right besides the other man, “I need it more than you do.” 

Ideally he would have chugged damn near half the thing in the first swig. But he just doesn't have it in him. 

He still tries, though. 

With a sigh he lets his eyes fall close and tries to will his feelings away. Doesn't want to even acknowledge them. It's too much all at once. 

…

Nanu's staring at him expectantly. 

“What?” Guzma snaps at him. 

“Nothing. Just... listening, if you need it.” the cop shrugs. 

“I don't wanna fucking talk about it!” 

“I know you don't...” a longer pause than even he himself was expecting to take. “But sometimes you need to.” 

Guzma sips his drink just to avoid talking. With an angry huff he turns away from Nanu, doing everything he can to prevent this conversation from happening. 

The first few minutes of silence between them pass and Guzma already feels himself beginning to crack. He only holds out another few seconds. 

And exhales with a frustrated groan, tossing his head back and staring at the ceiling. “What d'you want me to say?” 

“I don't _want_ you to say anything.” 

He moves to glare but is surprised by the way Nanu looks back at him. Not only with a softened expression, but with some light in his eyes. _Sympathy,_ that's what it was. And not the perpetually dead stare he usually has. 

Guzma sets his drink on the table and settles back, letting his posture relax for the first time since he got here. He tries to focus on the imperfections in the ceiling as he finds his words. 

“I don't know, man,” he begins, “I just, I still think about it. Not even the actual _thing_ , but everything leading up to it. 

“...'nd I still think about _her_ , too. I miss her, honestly,” there's a slight change in his voice as he reminisces, “and like... I know it's stupid, but I kinda... 

“...I kinda just want things to go back to the way they used to be.” 

Nanu nods in his peripheral. 

Guzma exhales. Even he needs to take a second to let his own words sink in. He's rubbing his hands without realizing it. Similarly doesn't notice when his grip suddenly becomes harsh, one hand grasping the other and squeezing hard enough to feel the bones inside shifting under the pressure. 

“ _ **Fuck.**_ ” he grunts, releasing his hands to run them through his hair and tug at the roots, “I dunno why I'm even telling you this. It's just stupid, the whole fucking thing—fuck 'm sorry about that, just dumb of me to—” 

“ **Guzma.** ” Stated firmly and clearly to get his attention, and it works, makes him freeze in place. 

Nanu reaches over and pulls his hands away, discouraging him from pulling his hair. He holds them in his lap for a time, the two of them both staring down. 

“ _It's okay,_ ” it's so soft Nanu almost doesn't even hear it himself, “ _It's not wrong to feel that way._ ” 

That leaves the ex-Skull boss speechless. He doesn't even react when Nanu is the one to pull away. Only comes back to himself when he sees the cop reach over him and steal his beer. 

Guzma doesn't protest, though. Instead tries to fight the growing air of awkwardness he feels between them; he's lost his words and doesn't know what to say next. 

But luckily, he doesn't have to. 

“Did I ever tell you,” Nanu sighs, “that I used to work for the International Police?”

Guzma laughs incredulously. “Yeah? How'd that work out for you?” 

“I mean, I'm not there anymore.” 

“Thanks, asshole,” Guzma sneers, “Fine. What happened, then?” 

The older man takes another long sip. 

“Ultra beasts,” he states dryly. 

Guzma lets his mouth hang open dumbly. 

“This isn't a recent thing,” he casually shakes the can, noting how it's now practically empty and sets it to the side. “was happening ten years ago, too.” 

“God, you're old.” 

“I know.” 

“And I'll admit,” he continues, “I never went into Ultra Space like you did. I was lucky enough to not get fucked up by them, either. But, the things that I saw, the things that I lost...” 

He trails off, and Guzma can practically see it on his face when he leaves his body. Part of him is hoping he comes to fairly quickly, but the minutes tick by with Nanu staring into the distance. 

Guzma tries to get him out of it, touches his arm gently and sees Nanu startle. For a split second he looks frightened, but calms as he registers where he is and who's with him. 

“Y'alright?” 

The older man doesn't reply, but nods, and sighs as he continues. 

“My point is... I understand what you're going through, Guzma.” 

Again the younger man laughs harder than he means too, except this one is cruel and tinged with bitterness. “Yeah, well... fuckin' forgive me if I'm not as sympathetic. Kinda feel like it's a huge fuckin' difference between what I went through and what you did.” 

“It's not a contest, Guzma.” Nanu's voice is steady, but he sounds legitimately angry at that, and it catches the other off guard. “We're not doing this “pain olympics” shit.” 

Guzma feels a pang of regret at being scolded.

“Look,” Nanu sighs exasperatedly and rests his head on his hand, “what I'm trying to say is. I'm here for you.” 

The sudden shift in the tone of his voice again catches Guz by surprise. 

“A lot of what you're feeling... I know what it's like. I've gone through the motions before. And it's not easy to deal with this stuff alone; it's not safe to, either. I want to listen, I want to help, I want... I wanna be there for you, Guzma.” 

There's a stunned silence after that. Guzma blinks and realizes Nanu's again holding his hand. The touch has a warm feeling welling up in his chest, and he finds himself leaning in and pulling the older man into a hug. Tighter than perhaps necessary, but Nanu returns the gesture, even rubbing circles into his back. 

“Thanks,” Guzma's voice cracks, “for that, I guess.” 

They pull apart, and for once Nanu has a genuine smile, an actual one. Guzma mirrors it without even realizing, a lopsided smile as he settles back into the couch. 

Hardly lasts a few seconds before his smile falls as thoughts bubble up into his head again. He drops his head into his hands and groans. 

“How do you deal with it, man? With everything?” he clarifies, “The thoughts, the feelings, the _memories_...” 

“Self-medication.” Nanu states dryly. “It's not ideal, obviously, but it's the best some of us can do. 's why I drink.” He says it so casually it's almost unbelievable. “Some folks use food to cope, most others use anything from pot to meth to block shit out.” 

Guzma looks at him disbelievingly and only receives a shrug in return, as though asking him to mull it over. 

_Yeah, 'cause **that's** helpful._

…

An idea pops in his head that makes Guzma snort. 

“Yeah, well,” he smirks and leans in to Nanu again, “I think _I'll_ cope by having unsafe sex with gross old men who also happen to be kahunas.” 

Nanu grins and wraps an arm around him. “You want I should call Hala?” 

“Ew, gross.” Guzma grimaces, “I fuckin' grew up with the guy, you fuck. Don't be nasty.” 

That response gets a chuckle from him. “Right, sorry, I forgot that _I'm_ the gross one here.” 

“Yeah, you are.” Guzma jabs him in the chest before shutting him up with a kiss. 

They smile against one another before allowing their mouths to melt together. Their bodies follow suit, desperately trying to get closer, to the point where Guzma's sitting in his lap. They pull apart and he rests his head on Nanu's shoulder. 

“This is... nice,” he mutters, stumbling over his words. “Look, I... like, I dunno, I feel... fuck. Yeah...” 

“I know,” Nanu smiles against him. “You too, Guzma.”

**Author's Note:**

> these fuckin snarky buttbags can't even say they love each other what the fuck 
> 
> (im also a snarky buttbag check my ass out on tumblr : "hippocratessocrates"


End file.
